| Author(s) | Friedrich Engels |
|---|---|
| Written | 5 May 1885 |
ENGELS TO RICHARD STEGEMANN
IN TÜBINGEN
[Draft]
[London,] 5 May 1885
Dear Sir,
Mature reflection has shown that I cannot possibly comply with your request.[1]
Either the work you want must be short, in which case it could contain nothing but asseverations on my part, and thus merely be assertive and belletristic.
Or I should have to supply documentary evidence, in which case it would turn into a book, and that would not suit your purpose; moreover, I could not write it in so off-hand and casual a manner, for which my material is far too abundant.
A further consideration is that I should be more or less committing myself to co-editing a work about which I know nothing save the brief account provided by you.
In addition, the thing would — within the limits prescribed — be utterly useless. However vigorous my protestations, they would utterly fail to move the semi-educated vulgarian whose prejudices you wish to combat. People who say that Marx 'died friendless' must, presumably, harbour the belief that I do not exist at all. In which case, what magical effect could asseverations on my part be expected to have?
The old fairy-tales invented by the vulgar democratic emigration of 1850-59, and further elaborated by Bonaparte's paid agent, Karl Vogt,— il lui a été remis en 1859[2] 40,000 frs, according to the Tuileries papers,[3] may perhaps be more in vogue in your district than elsewhere because the Swabian People's Party is the direct descendant of that same democratic emigration, certain of its leaders having been on intimate terms with the afore-mentioned Vogt. Since all this was dealt with by Marx in Herr Vogt, there would seem to be no reason for me to hark back to it at this particular juncture. Vast numbers of lies were told about Marx to which he never saw fit to reply. The time may, perhaps, come when it will behove me to do so on his behalf, but the choice of time, place and modus operandi will be my affair. Which will, of course, only serve to revive my reputation for 'callousness'.
In any case, I haven't got time just now to do anything along these lines that would either be to the purpose or satisfy my own requirements in regard to such a work. My entire time is taken up with editing Marx's manuscripts, and I shall be acting wholly in his spirit if, in view of this obligation, I treat all this philistine carping with contempt.
I remain, Sir, very sincerely